Love in Training (A Miss Nebula/Origami Man Story)

It was impossible not to smile, and his trainer Cesar slapped the heavy bag in annoyance.

“Dammit, Marcus, where’s your damn fool head today?”

Marcus nodded and tried to wipe the grin off his face, but it was in his eyes as well. He attacked the bag halfheartedly, slapping at it with no real fierceness. His fighting craft had advanced somewhat so that even in his dreamlike state, a casual observer would have been impressed with his ability—but Cesar knew better.

After a particularly weak jab with his left, Cesar shoved the bag forcefully at Marcus, who caught it and looked quizzically at his mentor.

“Damn, man, what’s up?” Marcus said, his breath coming easily.

“What’s up with you, man? You know what? Call me when you are ready to workout for real. I’m gonna work with Duffy for a while. At least he’s got the fire.”

Marcus scowled. Duffy (Doughy, as he was known in the gym) was by far the worst fighter in the circuit. But before Marcus could respond to Cesar’s insult, the old Puerto Rican had moved off to the stunned Duffy and had started him on the speed bag.

Marcus knew very well where his head was. It was where it had been for the past thirteen days: with her.

His relationship with Caitlin had been frighteningly rapid and maddeningly slow at the same time. He had told her he had loved her, and he had meant it. He had kissed her, and he had meant that, too. And he had given her a ring to represent “going steady.”

She had not laughed at that.

Marcus was not innocent. He knew that. He wasn’t corrupted, or evil, but neither was he pure. He was no Galahad. He had had girls before…not a lot of them, but there had been a few. None of them, however, had what Caitlin had.

She was….radiant in her innocence and sincerity. He had never met anyone who was so brilliantly, scintillatingly sweet. It sounded weak in his own ears: people wanted to be known as powerful, or smart, or cool, or important. These were words that people respected. “Sweet and innocent” carried the inevitable stigmas of immaturity, weakness, and naiveté.

But to look at the world as it was—with the petty callous crimes that littered the surface of Paragon and the unspeakable evil that lurked beneath it—and maintain a belief in the fundamental goodness of humanity…

That was strength itself.

And he loved her for it.

Marcus sighed and looked again at the heavy bag. But he’d need to hone his fighting skills constantly. Partially just to keep up with her, but mostly…mostly to protect her. He loved her that much. Enough to not think of her while he was training.

“Cesar! Get your ass over here. I’m ready.”